Dethbrothers
by Super Lizard
Summary: Metalocalypse. Toki was the most brutal of them all. Rated for drama


No one acknowledged Toki's scars. They were readily visible for anyone to see when they lounged in the hot tub, or after shows, when they often found themselves relieved of shirts by female fans. No one acknowledged the scars except William, who had enough of his own. This is what bound William to Toki, and why, when others discussed removing Toki from the band, he was never able to seriously consider it. William knew that his self-inflicted scars would never be as brutal or as painful as the silvery lines that slashed spider-web traces from Toki's neck to the backs of his knees. He knew that no amount of self-mutilation would bring him the kind of pain that was forced on Toki, that haunted him whenever the days were quiet. It made William hate himself more, knowing that there was nothing he could do to make that haunting go away. Toki was the most brutal person William had ever met.

William was bound to Toki as to a brother, though he would never say it aloud.

Toki was smart. By no stretch of the imagination was anyone in the band a genius-- at least, in any other way that musically-- but Toki was undisputedly the brightest of all of them. He had made high grades, he had attended conservatory music school at the expense of the Norwegian government. He could have become anything. Nathan was dumb, but he knew it. He knew that he would never be anything other than a lyricist and a singer; but Toki had given up any other promising path to follow music, and he had given up the hope of a comfortable life to follow Dethklok before there was even a hint of notoriety behind the name. Toki had gone with Nathan and Skwisgar simply for a promise and a kind word and a hope, and stuck with the band with the kind of tenacity and loyalty that even Nathan, in his simplicity, could appreciate. It was that loyalty that tied Nathan to Toki. The few times when the rest of the band discussed firing Toki, Nathan could never wrap his mind around the concept-- not because of any intellectual inability, but because Dethklok without Toki was not Dethklok. Toki gave up more for their music than anyone else in the band-- and that made Toki the most brutal man Nathan had ever met. Nathan was loyal to Toki as to a fellow warrior, though he could never find the words for such camaraderie.

Toki played three instruments with proficiency, and he was familiar enough to coax tunes from at least a dozen. His first instrument had been the piano in the abandoned church in his village; learning to play it was the one thing he did which pleased his father and mother. He practiced until his hands hurt, until the candles burned down. Music school was his ticket out of reach of whips, of hands and fists and raised voices. There, he learned guitar and string bass. There, he fell in love for the first time with the sound of rage, created from the same instruments that his parents wished him to use to worship their God. He never returned to his hometown. Musical talent was the point at which Toki and Skwisgar met, where their souls overlapped.

No. Skwisgar only wished he shared some part of a soul with Toki. In a corner of his mind, he knew that Toki was a better musician. Skwisgar may be faster, better known, more celebrated-- but Toki was far more talented. Skwisgar had worked until his fingers bled to become the fasted guitarist in the world, but sometimes he would pass by Toki's room and surreptitiously catch the casual chords that carried through the stone walls and steel doors, right into the Swede's soul. It made him sick with envy and resentment, and he hated himself for being resentful, and he would stomp back to his room to retrieve his guitar and practice until the anger dissipated. Skwisgar admired and envied and hated and loved Toki, and that was the most brutal mix of emotions anyone had ever caused in him-- including his mother. It was all he could do to treat him like a brother.

Pickles felt like the sole voice of reason in a sea of stupidity. He was the oldest member of Dethklok, which automatically made him the big brother. It gave him the right to roll his eyes and mutter profanities without feeling guilty, and to belittle and harass his 'little brothers' when they were being unreasonable and juvenile. Funny, then, that he found himself least able to belittle and harass his youngest brother, the most child-like of them. Upon meeting Toki, Pickles knew that he would play for Dethklok, if only for the opportunity to work alongside this desperately joyous creature, and maybe to protect him. Days and weeks and years spent in rehearsal, in recording, in mixing, in living and breathing next to his brothers only made Pickles more sure of his decision-- and not only because of the fame and fortune and hot young women throwing themselves at his feet. He was certain that Dethklok was his home because Toki made Dethklok a family. He suspected from the beginning that this kind of family was more brutal and beautiful than any blood family could ever be, and he was grateful to Toki for making it what it was. If anyone had asked Pickles who the most brutal man in the world was, he probably would have answered Bruce Lee simply on reflex; but after careful consideration, he would have amended his statement. It was Toki. It was that family-- that family that none of them ever really had-- that made Toki an inseparable part of Pickles.

Toki never thought much of himself. He was not as brilliant a guitarist as Skwisgar, he was not as 'metal' as any of the others, nor as smart as Pickles or hateful as Murderface. He was nothing compared to Nathan in the way of charisma and creativity. With this in mind, he set out from the very beginning to make himself a little less expendable. He didn't demand any artistic licensure, nor did he depart from Nathan's 'vision' or Skwisgar's chord progression. He didn't write anything that he ever dared to share with the band, nor did he ever ask anything particularly extravagant. When the band was small, he purchased a synth workstation with his own money and translated his piano skills into synth back up. In the beginning, he _was _the road crew; only he knew how many times he had nearly destroyed his hands while soldering connectors, loading and unloading gear, setting up monitors that weighed nearly as much as he did. On several occasions, Pickles found him backstage, nearly hysterical, his hands buried in a bowl of ice; each time was a secret he begged Pickles to keep. Once the band became better-known, he lost that way of earning his keep. As each task was taken from him and assigned to a roadie or technician, he lost another inch of security, and he became more and more paranoid. He never asked for a raise, but took whatever their manager would give him. When they met Ofdenson for the first time, Toki knew right away that the manager already hated him. This caused him to hole up in his room for days, frightened into a stupor. He even considered becoming the lover of one of the other band members, only for the security that having an ally might provide-- but the situation would be horribly unstable, and if he were dumped on unfriendly terms, then he would lose his place in the band altogether. Better not to risk it.

Toki's fear reflected on his actions, making him seem unreasonable and unstable. It seemed more and more difficult to gauge the reaction of his 'family' to anything he might do. At least with his parents, Toki could expect much the same reaction to nearly everything-- a beating, or harsh words. A small part of him wished someone would take a belt to him, just so something would be familiar. He hated it, and he hated himself. It made him ill.

Sometimes, though, something would happen that would drag him out of his fear or the desperate joy he used as a cover. Those were the few times that Toki needed his brothers.

* * *

When the Ibsen show brought his parents from Lillehammer, Toki shut down entirely. The fear of his parents, of what his parents might do to him in front of his new family, of what his new family would think… there was too much. It was difficult enough to make himself stand, walk, and sit during those fearful two days, let alone ask for help-- and then, what would they think? Surely he should be able to handle being near his own relatives. But he couldn't. Nathan noticed, having the least worries from his family. The singer kept close to Toki whenever possible, or within sight; he walked next to Toki from the moment Ibsen revealed that frightful pair until it was no longer possible, taking his leave only to use the restroom or when he could not avoid spending time exclusively with his own parents. He didn't understand quite what was wrong, but he did know that something was very, _very _wrong. At the end of the two days of hell, the group split up to work out the rage they had felt for their families. Pickles went off by himself to get drunk (well, more drunk than usual), Skwisgar locked himself in his room to practice until he couldn't think, and Murderface took his car out to the track to smash things. Nathan could not, for once, bring himself to externalize his rage; he felt cold to the very pit of his stomach, and sick. The haunted stare of his youngest comrade just would not leave his mind's eye. He wandered to Toki's room, and pounded on the door for awhile. Worried, he even kicked the door in, only to find the room empty. Anxiously he stalked through the common areas of Mordhaus, thankfully finding his little brother before having to climb the stairs to the library or the observatory. He was doubly thankful that he didn't have to search any weird hiding places, like the aircraft hangar or the brewery.

Toki was in the game room, sitting straight in his chair, staring at nothing in that unnerving way. He didn't acknowledge Nathan's entrance with so much as a blink.

Nathan, unnerved, crossed to him and reached out a hand-- but stopped, unsure of what to do. If he shook Toki, would it cause him to freak out? The kid didn't seem to need any more trauma, that was for damn sure. He cleared his throat, then after a moment, as softly as he could, asked, "Toki? Are… Are you… okay?"

Toki did not move.

Nathan sat on the nearby sofa and watched him like a hawk. Minutes passed… three… five… fifteen… half an hour… an hour… A part of him wanted to scream in frustration and… concern? Fear? He didn't know. He didn't understand.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Toki inhaled shakily once, twice, then he blinked. He began to trembled all over, then shake profusely, still breathing unsteadily. His hands gripped the cushion of the chair, then released it, then gripped it again as he clenched his eyes shut and whimpered.

Nathan moved from the sofa and over to the chair fluidly, scooping up his little brother and moving himself into the chair instead, guiding the booted feet over the arm of the chair and tucking his chin over his friend's forehead.

And Toki screamed. Toki screamed and screamed until his voice was gone; his terrified shaking and each tormented vocalization rattled Nathan to the very core.

Nathan grew up with his parents, bumping around Air Force bases, until eventually his father retired and they moved to a support town in Florida which housed an armed forces retirement community. When he was very young, he had seen his neighbour, a very old gentlemen, freak out and start screaming when one of the kids set off particularly loud firecrackers. His mother took him inside and explained to him that the neighbour, a retired major of the Air Force, had been captured by the Japanese and tortured, and that he had something called Post Traina… past traumatic… something. Something brutal had been done to the old man, and it never left him. He hadn't quite understood at the time, but with age came a certain grim knowledge of such things.

So now, Nathan understood that something brutal had been done to Toki, and it never left him. Helpless, but not willing to leave Toki to fight on his own, Nathan held his comrade and muttered to him the most comforting words he could, in the least threatening voice he could manage.

"It's okay. You're safe now. They're gone. I'll protect you Toki." And he meant it. "I'll protect you."

Hours or minutes later, Toki exhausted himself, and his dry screams subsided into gasping sobs; he wrapped a hand around Nathan's shirt, not understanding where he was or what was happening, but knowing that he didn't want to leave. It wouldn't have made a difference. Nathan wasn't going anywhere.

Toki finished sobbing and either blacked out or fell asleep by the time William came into the game room. His hands, arms, and face were smudged with the soot and dirt of destruction, and he bore a satisfied smirk, which quickly faded when he saw his lyricist protectively holding his guitarist, who seemed to have passed out cold. But William recognized the dark mood before he saw the deep lines in Nathan's face, or the shadows in Toki's.

He went to the sofa without speaking, and sat on the end closest to the others, where he could see right into Toki's face. It was a long while before he spoke.

"They… They tell me that my fathered murdered my mother and himshelf when I wush very young. I don't remember anything, really, exshept for the screamsh. Never really caushed me musch of anything but depreshun. Whatever… whatever happened to Toki… it musht have been brutal."

Nathan could not think of anything to say. Instead, he cradled Toki in a very unmetal way, and just sat with his brothers.

A good while later, Pickles came in, a bottle of tequila in one hand. "Heard him screaming on the other side of the house," he said, face contorted with concern and sorrow. "Like when he gets nightmares, 'cept louder." He stumbled over to the chair and hunched over, setting a hand on Toki's head in a gesture of comfort, then easing himself to the ground and slumping against the side of the chair. "Jeezus," he breathed, taking a sizable drink from the bottle, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Jeezus. We shoulda killed the bastards while they were here."

"He would never forgive ush," William said almost sardonically.

A long moment passed, the men taking some peace in being at the side of their brother. Then, the door opened one more time, and they all tensed.

Skwisgar and Toki were inseparable friends and irreconcilable enemies; everyone knew it. They held their breath to see which role Skwigar would take in this situation.

To his credit, he chose inseparable friend; he slowly made his way to stand in front of Nathan's chair, then he hunched over, cleared Toki's hair from his forehead with one hand, and planted a brotherly kiss upon his fellow guitarist's brow. "I wills thems kill next time, littles brother," he promised. "Ifs ever theys comes close-to-yous again, theys are dead."

Then he took a place on the floor at the side of the chair where Pickles was not, and he made himself comfortable.

They all fell asleep this way, not meaning to, but not having any other plan.

* * *

Toki awoke exhausted, with a pain in his throat and chest and a cramp in one hand. However, he was very warm and felt safe, protected. It was a very strange feeling, so he kept his eyes closed and did not release his hold on whatever soft but smelly thing he was grasping. Many moments passed, and he judged the silence to be safe; he opened his eyes to the sight of Nathan's collarbone. The lead singer was leaned back in the chair, snoring loudly-- but he still had a strong hold on his little brother.

A quick survey of the room gave him the others; Pickles was whistling his soft snores from the floor behind him, and he could hear Skwisgar's quiet sleep-talk muttering from the floor at his feet. On the sofa, Murderface was sprawled out, snoring somewhat less obnoxiously than usual.

Toki smiled to himself, nearly in tears. His brothers were all here. His _real _brothers, his real family, not those people who birthed him and beat him and… his _real family._ He was glad no one was awake to see him crying to himself like a sentimental old woman, because that was definitely not metal at all. Another thing that was not metal was being held like a little baby, though he had to admit, he'd never felt safer.

Nevertheless, it would not do, to remain where he was. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Nathan's grasp and climbed to the rug, where he sprawled out on his back and gazed around fondly at his new family. He caught a glance from Pickles, who smiled tiredly in his direction. "Welcome back, little brother."

Toki smiled in response, and watched as Pickles drifted back to sleep. With this same smile on his face, he returned to a more peaceful sleep, underscored by the sounds of his brothers' snores.


End file.
